


i tear you apart

by larkspear



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, Killing Eve AU, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, pushing the limits of hannibal's dark comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 19:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17586545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkspear/pseuds/larkspear
Summary: It's not like Alana to get so wrapped up in investigating an assassin. But then again, this is no ordinary assassin.marlana killing eve AU





	i tear you apart

**Author's Note:**

> a friend of mine suggested killing eve au for marlana and the idea stuck with me, so. here's whatever the hell this is. there's really no better "dark au" for a f/f ship than killing eve, lbr. this is a tonal mess but (shrug.jpg)
> 
> trigger warnings are just what you'd expect from canon

It's not that Margot doesn't have the nerve to kill. In fact, that's the only part of this equation she really has down. After all, there are worse things than killing. And she'll do what she has to do.

Whatever stops her from killing Mason isn't the act itself. Maybe it's fear. Maybe it's some twisted ounce of familial loyalty from the most fucked up part of her psyche. Maybe it's a lack of practice. But it's definitely not the idea of killing.

Mason doesn't forgive her. Or rather, he doesn't consider her enough of a person to be angry, so forgiveness isn't necessary. He just sends her off to a psychiatrist. He even pretends to let her pick one.

On first impression, Dr. Lecter is like any other psychiatrist. She plans to scare him by being too honest, makes an internal bet with herself how long before he refers her. So color her shocked when, in the first sessions, he tells her that killing Mason would've been therapeutic.

A couple sessions later, she reveals that pesky little detail in the will, and why killing Mason is a bad idea. Hannibal just looks at her with his inscrutable eyes.

"You could make a life outside the Verger fortune," He suggests.

She pretends to pause thoughtfully. "Mason would have me followed if I tried to run."

"Surely you can come up with a way around that."

"It's not that easy."

"Things that are worth it rarely are," Hannibal says with a silent smile in his voice.

One day, it builds up again. After one of her sessions, she drives home with murder on the mind. She creeps up the stairs towards his bedroom, a knife in one hand and the intention to butcher him like his precious pigs weighing heavy on her. The sound muffled voices, deep and dark against Mason's sickly bright laugh, kills her nerve.

Margot can't take his guests, if she could even take her brother. She shuts down before she can feel the sting of defeat, and instead hastily packs her bags before Mason can notice.

When she gets to driveway, Hannibal's standing there.

"You couldn't do it," He remarks as he notices the clean knife still in her fist. "That's alright. Every skill requires some practice to build up confidence."

She just stares at him.

"You seem desperate. Do you want a new life, Margot? " He smiles without his eyes. "We'll have to fake your death first. No worries. It's quite simple."

Hannibal holds out a hand in a silent offer and, for once, Margot doesn't have the urge to bite. Not him, at least.

The Verger legacy is built upon slaughter. Really, she's just going into the family business.

  


* * *

  


Her new life isn't what most people would consider pleasant, but it's much better. Her job comes easily to her, as she's already practiced in all the compartmentalization she needs. She uses her money to rent a big apartment and buy fancy dresses. On her days off, she finds pretty girls at bars to occupy her, even if she sends them away half the time.

Her only real friend is Hannibal, and even then, he's more of a work friend. She finds him weird, and pretentious, and often condescending. She's pretty sure he finds her spoiled and insolent. Of course, nobody in the killing business is all the pleasant.

The day goes like any other: she's lounging on her couch when Hannibal knocks, and then lets himself in. He invites her to dinner, she politely refuses, he hands her a postcard with the details are hidden in code.

"Your train leaves later tonight," He says curtly.

"What's the matter? Ignored by your favorite again?" She doesn't actually know the name of his favorite, but she knows it's not her, and she knows Hannibal gets sulky about him. It's an easy target.

"It's not very becoming to pry, Margot." The alias she picked is Magnolia, which is pretentious and stupid but she might as well indulge if she's an assassin, but it's hard to get used to it when he won't even call her that.

"I heard he enjoys fishing. Do you cook fish as well as you cook... pork?"

He doesn't respond, as if he doesn't want to sink to her level. She'll consider it a win anyways. "I think you'll enjoy this one," Hannibal says, and leaves.

Sure enough, when she looks up the mark, it's some asshole father. Those are some of her favorites. One of theirs gone rogue and turned to serial killing girls who look like his daughter. Just the thing to cheer her up.

  


* * *

  


Normally Alana doesn't do this sort of thing. She defers politely to the FBI when she needs, gives Jack the referrals he needs. It's what she did with Will, and with Hannibal. But this time he'd asked her to come in for a witness, poor daughter of a victim, he could use someone to keep an eye on her just until someone figures out where to send her.

Of course, she can smell ulterior intentions a mile away. Jack has a way of doing that. But sure - she doesn't doubt the girl could use some help.

When she actually stops by, Jack manages to just happen on catching her in the hallway. While she's here, maybe she could help out? He could use another opinion on this case, if she could just take a crack at profiling.

Alana represses a sigh, figure it'll give Will a break from this sort of thing, and follows Jack to where he's got the evidence put up. Will's not there, good, but the room isn't empty - Hannibal's looking it over too, and Beverly and the boys are already in a hum of speculative conversation.

It's a strange case, to be sure. Dying had outed the victim as a serial killer they'd been tracking. She can't say she's too broken up about his death, but the professionalism of the kill is alarming. Almost in broad daylight.

Beverly leans over to her conspiratorially. "Twenty bucks said it was one of the victim's dads."

Alana thinks she should be offended, but she's too absorbed in the idea. "No, it was definitely a woman."

"Really?" Bev looks at her. "Alright. I'll take _that_ bet."

Then she realizes the room has fallen silent and turned to them. Jack and Hannibal both watch her. "What did you say?" Jack asks.

"That the killer was a woman." She fights back a defensive streak. "He was targeting young women. If the killer matched his victim profile, he'd be too busy thinking of her as prey to consider her a threat."

"Interesting theory," says Hannibal.

  


* * *

  


The pay from her last job had gone to some luxurious new sheets. Well, in part - she'd had to use part of her advance to buy a new outfit. She needed to blend in at the opera, after all. Good thing she hadn't gotten blood on it. Margot rewards herself by sprawling out on her bed like a cat.

Hannibal knocks, enters, and doesn't bother to invite her to dinner. She sits up and waits for the lecture.

"The bad news is that your stunt with the Minnesota Shrike has drawn the attention of the FBI."

"Is that what they're calling him?" Margot doesn't bother to sound worried.

"The worst news is that your stunt at the opera left a witness." He waits the right amount of seconds to try and fish a reaction out of her. She doesn't rise to the bait. "It seems our cello player had a friend."

"Unfortunate."

"You need to be more careful, Margot," Hannibal chides, "Or they're going to catch you."

"They won't. I'm rather good."

"They might." He pulls a postcard out of his jacket. "The witness is staying at a hospital overnight. It's a chance for some spring cleaning." He glances around her apartment. "You could certainly use some."

As if she could care any less about his veiled digs at her style. Good thing she's never tried to cook for him. "I haven't had time to do much organization. I've been too busy, you see."

Hannibal isn't amused. He begins to leave, but pauses a few steps away from the door. "Oh, and Margot?"

"Hm?

"Make it look like a suicide."

  


* * *

  


"It's a shame about your theory," Hannibal says without looking at her as Jack's pouring over the Tobias Budge case. "The CCTV came in. The killer was clearly a man."

"What?" Alana turns to look at him, and then to Jack. "Yesterday you told me there was no CCTV."

"It must have come in yesterday," Jack says, clearly disinterested. "I told Will to look it over if it did. I assume he told Dr. Lecter here."

"It was a good guess," Hannibal says with a smile."But it occurred near the hospital where Dr. Chilton works, didn't it? You know how the good doctor feels about maintaining surveillance."

"Aren't you going to take a look at it yourself, Jack?" None of this is sitting right with her. She can't quite put her finger on it. "If this is related to the opera case-"

"Not unless there's footage from the opera house too," He responds curtly. "There's not proof they're connected. I'm more worried about maintaining protective custody for the main witness."

Alana remembers distinctly Will mentioning the witness being admitted to the hospital. The same one Abigail's at. "I'm going to go check up on Abigail," She says.

  


* * *

  


"Should we have brought flowers or... something?" Abigail glances over at her as Alana slows to a stop outside the hospital room.

"That's- a good idea," She replies. It's not like her for these things to slip her mind. It's a bad sign when a serial killer's daughter is more on point with social niceties than her. Especially since poor Franklyn laying in the hospital bed in the next room doesn't have any flowers or balloons or anything to indicate having been visited, save for the agents providing protection. "Why don't you go see what you can find?"

Abigail shuffles off to find a store or at least a vending machine, and Alana opts to stop by the restroom to try and clear her head a bit.

Alana runs her hands through her hair and wonders what the hell she's even doing here. If Jack hadn't seemed so eager to drop it, would she care so much? She stares at her reflection in the mirror as if it will answer.

Maybe it's her own restlessness. She senses a change in the air lately that she can't recognize. The feeling gripes her and as an idle reflex she pauses halfway through running her hand through her hair to imagine how it would look with a haircut.

A woman emerges just then from one of the stalls and takes her place at the only other mirror, only a few feet away. They catch each other's gaze in the corner of their eyes and look at each other.

There's something striking about this woman, even if she's just in nurse scrubs. If Alana's a flower in the middle of winter, all gentle curling against the sharp edge of snow, then this woman is like a cherry tree just after the bloom. The ghost of something soft and beautiful.

Alana's too caught up in feeling poetic to look away. The stranger doesn't either. "Are you alright?" She asks, though it's not like she's not staring too.

The woman doesn't answer. Her eyes catch where Alana's hand is still lingering in her hair.

"Cut it short," She encourages, and then leaves the room as if she was never there.

Of course, Alana doesn't think much about it after she gets the call from Beverly that there was no CCTV and the bloodbath she walks out into only moments later.

  


* * *

  


Everything from there is a bit of a blur. People sit her down at clean tables in dim rooms and tell her the facts like she doesn't know. Five people dead, including the witness, Abigail was in danger, what were you thinking? Jack tells her in his professionally gentle voice that _you won't be advising on this case anymore_ , and Hannibal adds _maybe you should stop seeing patients for a while_. Of course. Of course.

It's not until Jack shows up at her doorstep, well after dark, that things come into focus. Not that it makes any more sense.

"Do you need anything at the store?" He stands awkwardly on the step, a little too close to be polite. "Maybe some milk?"

"What?"

Jack just smiles and dips his head to indicated that she should follow. Alana fumbles her keys locking the door and follows him in a half-daze to the nearby market. They make it to the dairy isle and Jack leans against a shelf, idly pawing a carton of milk.

"What is this actually about?" Alana has the composure to ask.

He doesn't answer immediately. "I can't officially condone you continuing the investigation," He says. "But if you're still interested, maybe there's another option."

"Interested - in our killer? Shouldn't you be talking to Will, or literally anyone else?"

"You were onto something," He says evenly. "I need that kind of intuitive. Especially when I'm limited in what I can do. I need you, Alana."

This is probably a mistake, but she writes down the address he gives her anyway. It's barely been 24 hours and she's already restless.

  


* * *

  


Margot's woken up by the sound of a polite but impatient knock. She's already out of bed by the time the woman next to her (whatever her name is) groans. And when she gets to the door, Hannibal stands there and looks dismissively between the clothes she'd thrown on and the bed.

"Am I interrupting something?" He taunts. He catches her guest's eye, and Margot glances back just enough to shoo her along. The woman hurried snatches up her belongings and awkwardly slinks out of the apartment. She glances back at Margot. Margot doesn't bother to look at her.

"No," She answers flatly. "Would you like to come in."

Hannibal wanders into her kitchen to be safely away from the door and any curious eavesdroppers. "You were supposed to make the hospital look like a suicide," He remarks.

"Didn't it?" She's already pouring herself coffee.

"So he slit his throat and removed his kidneys by himself?"

"Those were a gift. They're in the back of the freezer, by the way. You seemed like you could use a good dinner party to cheer you up."

"How kind of you," He doesn't sound amused. "I think you should take a break."

Margot freezes. She looks up at him. "What?"

"You've been rather reckless lately." Hannibal paces slowly over to the fridge to check her 'gift'. "Do you have any idea what might have motivated you to act that way?"

Therapist-talk is only for when he's feeling particularly dismissive and expecting her to be volatile. Well, fine. She can push back.

"I'm feeling restless," She drawls and hops up to sit on her counter. "Maybe I need a vacation. Maryland's supposed to be lovely this time of year."

"Margot." His tone is measured. "All in due time."

"It's been _years_ ," She snaps. "There has to be some way that Mason's death would benefit them, I could just stop by and-"

"Patience, Margot," He says in that careful way that is very distinctly a threat. "You'll never get what you want if you don't behave."

Honestly, Margot's become tempted to slit the throat of everyone who tells her to _behave_. But the retort dies on her tongue and she simply stews in her fury while he paces closer, smug as ever, and pulls out a postcard.

"If you can do this with some subtlety, there will be no reason to worry." She takes it stiffly from him. He pauses and backtracks to the fridge. "My sincerest thanks for the meat. Despite everything, you are my favorite butcher."

"But not your favorite," She adds idly.

  


* * *

  


There's not a lot of space in this new office, but Alana will take what she can get. Beverly and Will agree to help out (it'd might be good for Will to get a chance to do something less... close, as far as she's concerned), and Jack stops by quite often despite not being able to 'officially help'.

Except Will doesn't seem as eager when he actually arrives and sees the wall of theories and the state of this place.

"This isn't like you, Alana," He remarks. "What are we going on, your- your hunch?"

"I thought Jack worked off of your hunches all the time." Alana counters.

"That's different. It's not-" He sighs and gives up. "What's gotten you so fixated on this one woman? She can't be that important if it really is some larger conspiracy."

"She's our only lead to whatever this is," Alana insists. "If we want to make any progress, we have to find _her_."

That satisfies Will, or at least seems to. But Bev breaks the silence. "Right, so, where do you want us to actually start?"

"The hospital. I saw a nurse just before... before it all happened." Alana pauses heavily. "Can you get the hospital records? Maybe she saw something."

  


* * *

  


The next job goes by without a hitch. The mark had been so kind as to work late at his office in the hospital. Margot had even left him all torn up and dramatic, they way she knows amuses Hannibal. The media will be too busy scaremongering about serial killers to worry about assassins. Everything's fine.

Or so she'd thought. Hannibal enters her apartment without even knocking this time. Margot grips a knife behind her back when she hears him come in. Her warnings that he had to knock or they wouldn't be friends anymore is apparently worth disregarding when he's annoyed.

"I told you to be subtle," He sounds awfully cross.

"This will throw them off the scent," She replies smoothly, "You've never cared how I do it before."

There's a strained silence as he eyes the knife in her hand. Then he sighs and folds his hands behind his back.

"There's a woman leading an offshoot department of the FBI just to find you." Hannibal fixes his gaze on her when the thrill of that idea lights in her eyes. "It's not a good thing. We just need you to be inconspicuous until we find out what they know."

"You underestimate me," Margot replies. She gets out a bottle of wine from her fridge, the nice stuff that she keeps for charming women and when Hannibal comes over. She avoids his eyes when she pours him a glass. "What's her name?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"You know me. Always curious."

Hannibal takes his glass of wine and smells it. At length. Drawing things out before he decides to speak. "Dr. Alana Bloom."

"Alana Bloom," She repeats, tasting the name on her tongue.

"Doctor." He sets the glass down again. "You'll continue working, just be cautious."

When he leaves, she immediately pulls out her laptop and searches for that name.

  


* * *

  


Coming in this late maybe isn't healthy, but the mystery (or is it curiosity?) needles Alana. Beside, Bev said the files on the hospital staff would be in later tonight. It sure is later.

When she settles down at her desk, the room dark except for the blue buzz of her computer monitor, she begins the arduous task of looking through the personal files. If nothing else, monotony will kill her anxiety.

Except, with each passing face that she doesn't recognize, something begins to dawn on her.

  


* * *

  


'Alana Bloom' doesn't bring up many results. A few misplaced images of flowers, a few random people who don't seem old enough to have a doctorate, let alone work with the FBI. When she adds on 'doctor', that at least brings up a group photo. Some kind of faculty picture from Georgetown. Margot opens it without really thinking.

Then she sees it. Or thinks she sees it. She zooms in, not once but twice, onto a face in the middle.

The woman's hair is just as long and silky here as it was in the hospital bathroom.

Margot practically throws the computer away from her.

  


* * *

  


The door opens just as the realization crests over Alana. She half-startles and looks up to see Will.

"You too?" Her smirk is tinged with exhaustion and something else.

"Couldn't sleep," He doesn't quite look at her. "Are you looking into an abyss, Dr. Bloom?" He's mostly teasing.

"Not quite." Despite everything, she finds herself repressing a smile. She shouldn't be smiling. "I think I've _met_ her."

  


  



End file.
